


Jesse Williams: Footmaster Father

by Aayla8978



Series: Footmasters from around the Fandoms [6]
Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Creative use of foot sweat, Dark Father-son time, Death, Domination, Drowning in sweat, Foot Fetish, Foot Smelling, Forced, His son is basically a foot slave, Jesse is a dominant father, M/M, Trampling, smothering, you were warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:46:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aayla8978/pseuds/Aayla8978
Summary: Jesse Williams is a hardworking single dad. and expects respect and obedience from his son. When he feels disrespected, he decides it’s time to teach his son a lesson.Jesse is also a Brutal Footmaster.
Relationships: Jesse Williams/Original Male Character
Series: Footmasters from around the Fandoms [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599982
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	Jesse Williams: Footmaster Father

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m branching out into actor RPF’s 
> 
> If anyone has any suggestions, or wants to trade stories. I’m always looking for feedback. :)

Autumn left Jesse in a miserable state. The winding back of time always caught him off guard. Its why he told his son to do it while he was off from school. A simple task to encourage responsibility. Yet he remained sleep long past his time that his boss called him up. An immediate rush of adrenaline flooded his system. He sped across the room collecting what clothes he had, pants, shirts, undergarments. All he needed now were a pair of socks to shove over his feet and he could head out.

He pulled his sock drawer open to find not a single pair. His lips formed a thin line as stern expression is chiseled out. A sharp exhale is released. Another responsibility that fell to the wayside. He pushed the drawer closed in quiet contemplation as he didn't have time to fully rage out and punish his boy. Instead he shoved his bare feet into his sneakers and went rushing towards work.

As quickly and quietly as he left was how he returned. Beneath his cold exterior a fire raged and would soon be released as he walked into his home. The cold air had done a number on him and his feet. Forcing them to sweat harder than before. The worse was how the sweat warmed his feet only to chill making them shiver harder and produce more sweat in reaction. An unending cycle, he swore frostbite would claim his toes.

He wanted into the living room, his boy playing some video game. Stomach flat on the floor so his face can be far too close to the television. Jesse walked with a confident stride, in one casual flick of his ankle his shoe battered the controller from the boy's hand and settled onto the son's knuckles.

When his dad had told him to change the clocks. He assumed he was giving him advice. The kid never twigged that Jesse was giving him an order. So he didn’t bother with his dads alarm clock. Of course. He also didn’t have that extra hour at the end of the day he used to clean up and organise his dad’s clothes. So he decided to do a fresh load tomorrow instead. With the machine whirring, the kid thought nothing of his dad coming in. He was always so calm, he could never tell when he was angry. Which was rare. Using his dad would just give him a bone, chilling stare instead. Just as he beat a boss, his dad kicked his remote away. He felt some considerable weight on his hands as his fathers cold, wet sneakers crush them. “Aaah dad! That’s not funny!” The Son wiggled under Jesse’s wide feet. Unable to contend with his Dad’s weight 

A few pops surfaced from beneath Jesse's weight. His eyes locked onto the boy's squirm in trying to escape his foot. However, his foot was longer than width of his son's hands together. And even broader. He's certain by now the design of his tread marks have indented themselves into his son's skin. Shame that it won't be as potent enough of a lesson.

"No. Its not funny." His monotone expression removing the warmth from the room, "What also isn't funny is being late for work and chewed out by my boss." His heel lifted to grind down harder on the boy's hands, "And unlike your boss, I can't beat mine up."

The son gritted his teeth as his bones ground together. His daddy had always taught him to be tough. But this was getting painful. He heard some dangerous creaks and let out a small groan. As his dad started to talk, he realised how angry he really was. He’d apologise for sure when he could get a word in...

This idea left his head as Jesse started to concentrate his efforts. The balls of his feet dig deeply into the skin, starting to draw blood and the son began to openly whine. “Aaaaah daddy please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t ever do it again. Please stop it hurts!” He babbled. Mentally cursing himself. He hadn’t called Jesse Daddy for years. He sounded pathetic. 

Such a rapidly crafted apology caused Jesse's foot to anchor back to the floor. A brow rose, "And what are you apologizing for, exactly?" The weight no longer persisted. His patience taking form in a rhythmic pounding. Taking his time to tap dance all over the boy's hands.

That apology wouldn't suffice in the first place. He spent all day forming the perfect lesson for him. There wasn't anything his son could say to toss away all that thinking. Besides, he had to know if his boy realized the rest of his blunders.

The kid exhaled as the weight left his appendages. But he didn’t have much time to relax as Jesse began gently stomping them. Aggravating his bleeding hands. He hissed through his teeth at every strike. Knowing he had to end this soon if he wanted to preserve any dignity. 

“I-I’m sorry for not doing your laundry and for making you look bad in front of your boss. I swear I’ll never, ever do it again. Please dad...” he slowly started to inch his hands out from under his Dad’s sneakered feet. Desperate from relief. He was already developing a phobia of The big lumbering things that took him back to when he was three and Jesse would playfully stomp around him. Terrifying him and amusing Jesse.

"So you know about that as well?" While he was stunned by the remark of acknowledged failures, he didn't show it in facial expression or tone. How could he when he noticed his son trying to pry his little fingers away from his foot. He pretended not to notice for a while, even going as far to slow the rate of stomping. All for it to lift and slam down closer to the wrist. Pinned he sighed and pushed his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

This won't do at all. "You've done worse than that. Go position yourself by the couch. You know the position." The one dubbed, 'bad boy spot'. Jesse found having a child face a corner to be ridiculous. Not every time could he have his boy just go out of the room and find a corner. Instead he'd make him strip down to his underwear and kneel. Most parenting lessons told of lowering yourself to the child's level. Why would he ever do that, he's in charge. Better to further humble them.

He stepped down before allowing the boy to move. His next few steps were followed by a devastating crunch as the controller broke apart under his weight. Jesse had caught the sound of the laundry going. In the laundry room he found a pair of socks dropped to the floor. Must have fell from the hamper and missed the initial load. He collected them and stowed them into his pocket before returning to the room to see how his boy was doing.

The son’s arm seized up as his Dad stomped his wrist. He winced and let out a little yelp. He should have known better than to move before the punishment was over. But he knew his dad needed some space. When told to assume the position by the couch. He stared at the floor. This was exactly what he was hoping wouldn’t happen. Ever since he was five and had broken a lamp, Jesse had implemented this system. Often times he just sat on the couch with him between his legs and ignored him. Others he would spank him. But it always, without fail, made him feel small and weak. At 4’10. He was a slow grower and his Dad’s 6’1 frame didn’t help settle the power dynamic any. While his Dad checked the laundry. He stripped. Folded his clothes and sank, dejectedly, to his knees in front of the couch. Still staring at the floor.

Jesse walked over to the couch. He sat down with an exhausted grunt before his other leg crossed over the boy to land on the other side of him. Between his legs he could easily look down at his kid, a short shake of his to show his disappointment. One day the boy will grow up and learn to use these lessons to better himself. But for now, Jesse must instill or install at this point more lessons to get him to that point. "Look up at me." His finger tilted the boy's chin to force eye contact.

"Not only did your lack of efficiency leave me late. But it left me with no socks. Not a single pair for my feet to cover and protect from the cold." He presented the balled up socks, crusted and coated with dried sweat. "Also you missed a pair. These should have been on my feet. But first they should be cleaned. Open your mouth."

Every step his Dad took towards the couch made the boy flinch. He hadn’t been in the Bad boy spot for a while. And every time he was here, Jessie punished him more and more. He had a feeling he’d be here for hours. He avoided his Daddies gaze. And drew his limbs more closely to himself when Jesse settled in. Making him feel almost trapped between his legs.

When Jessie grabbed his chin he jumped. He could barely look into his Dad’s eye without feeling embarrassment at letting himself be controlled so easily. And fear at the icy blue stare. When he caught sight of the crusty black socks he gulped. And Jessie’s order didn’t put him at ease at all. “Dad...please...” he opened his mouth. Making a pleading face at his father.

"Second time you have called me Dad. When have we gotten so formal?" The boy's cheeks were caught between Jesse's massive grip. Two fingers worked their way into the boy's mouth and forced his jaw to lower. He unpeeled the two socks into separate pieces. A gelatin having formed since their time together. He pushed one into the boy's mouth. Carefully jabbing it with his fingers to get as deep down as possible. The next one was promptly stuffed until his son's cheeks swelled to resemble a happy squirrel with nuts.

When attempting to seal the mouth closed by pushing up the lower jaw an active squish noise produced. The socks oozing their now liquefying sweat back to their natural state. Leaning back he patted the cushion space on the couch between his thighs. "Place your head here."

The boy winced as his daddies large fingers entered his mouth. He was too afraid of his hulking father to fight back as his jaw was forced open. And a sock, still retaining the outline of his daddies sweaty size 12 feet, was forced in. He moaned and gagged. But couldn’t make much noise around the sweaty cotton. The other one soon followed and he groaned as his mouth was stretched.

There he was, humiliated and afraid, with two rank socks in his mouth. The disgusting salty taste spreading over his tongue and cutting off his air. He breathed desperately through his nose. Letting off small moaning noises all the while as he tasted hints of his daddies toe jam. He quickly put his head down on the couch. Heaving with disgust and shame. Wishing he could fight back. 

Jesse brushed his hand against the back of his boy's head. A gesture of comfort that everything will be all okay. This was for his own good. But that comfort was soon removed as his thighs formed a wall around the boy's small head. He cross his legs and tightly compressed the son's skull between him. Whatever noises that tried to surface would be drowned out as Jesse changed the channel on the television.

He figured he'd sit there until the laundry had finished. A good time to have his socks soaking and rinsed of their sweat. In the meantime his thighs continued to be a constricting force.

The Son almost relaxed at the feel of his Dad’s hand on his head. Was this the. “I only punish you because I care moment?” Was it over? These thoughts left his mind as two powerfully built legs wrapped around his head. He felt his dad arrange himself comfortably and turn on the TV. His legs squeezed the poor boy’s head and made it even harder to breathe as his face was forced into the couch, near his Dad’s musky crotch, and his airways already constricted by the rankest pair of socks he’d ever known. Jesse’s foot sweat dripped down his chin as he struggled and moaned. His dad didn’t seem to notice the struggle much. Eventually he just lay there. Crying softly in fear, sadness and above all. Pain. The powerful legs giving him a mighty headache 

A ding broke Jesse's concentration and in turn his legs went slack. Feet planting back to the floor the crushing force was removed. Still Jesse refused to go easy as he lifted the boy by his hair and slipped the socks from his mouth. One after another like a magician handkerchief trick. They were slapped over the boy's shoulder to dry. With hair held back and still in his fist Jesse was free to explain the rest of his plan.

"While those are drying, take my shoes off. You need to see what my feet experienced without socks today."

The boy took several long, deep breaths as he was freed. Savouring what might be the last fresh air of the day. He whined a little as his daddy manhandled his hair. But it was a small price to play for his freedom from his feet...or so he thought.

As Jesse told him to remove his shoes. The Son was actually kind of happy about it. Maybe he’d see his Daddy’s feet all roughed up and he could apologise and go. Wet socks on his shoulders notwithstanding. He leaned down and started unlacing the tight black sneakers. Pulling them off in quick succesion and looking up at his dad. Begging with his eyes to leave 

Jesse's body rocked at the tiny fingers went to pry his shoe off. He sat in absolute silence during this time. His foot removed from had launched a foul stench into the air. For once his face broke out of its stoic disposition and scrunched with disconcerting disgust. Unsettled by a mere whiff from this distance when both feet were out he actively shoved the wet soles into his boy's face.

Both slabs of meat slammed without much thought other than to get away. He was certain he felt the boy's nose press into his arch. Which was good as the next lesson was about to beginning. "Do you smell that? That is what happens when I don't wear any socks. My feet begin to sweat insanely fast. That's disgusting, do you find that disgusting as well? I hope so and if you don't you will after you have taken a sniff all over my foot." He brought his foot back only to direct his finger to the areas where deep breaths will be taken. His finger jabbed at the start of his arch before working up to poke between his toes. "If there are no questions. Begin." Once more he leaned back and spread his legs out in order to avoid as much proximity to the smell.

The boy let’s out a muffled yell. As two cold, yet strangely hot, feet slam into his face. With his mouth covered. He’s forced to take in air, if you could even call it that, from his nose. The stench is. In a word. Overwhelming. His daddies feet are taking over his own world. And suddenly he’s 8 years old again. Getting a whiff of his work shoes and shuddering. Vowing to keep away from his dad’s feet from now on. The stink was causing him to tremble and convulse. Jesse seemed to ignore this. As he calmly pointed out where he was to...sniff?!? He couldn’t possibly be willing to put his own son through more of this torture could he?

His question was answered as the dark coloured soles overtook his vision once more. One foot was as big as his head. Two? And Jessie could crush his head like a berry between them. The sons nostrils began to burn as the mouldy, cheesy, vinegary stink forced its way into his nose and between every pore of his skin. Until suddenly. He pushed the feet away and fell to his hands and knees. Retching 

Desperate sniffs and smelling started to drag the stink off Jesse's toes and bury them safely into his boy's nostrils. There was a minute of pride that swelled into Jesse's eyes as the obedience to such depravity was played out. That was until the sudden shock of repulsion and pulling away from him. "Yes, awful aren't they. This is what YOU did to them. Don't pull away from your mistakes, face them like a man." Ironic to even consider his boy to have any masculine traits at this point.

He listened to the boy whine and writhe in agony before he sighed and stood up. Maybe that was the problem, he was attempting to raise a boy into a man. Clearly, he wasn't ready for that step. It was time to move down to an alternative branch. From boy to bitch perhaps? He could always make another to supplant the child later. Or be used as an example.

Jesse leaned down to pry the underwear free from the boy's legs. Exposed to the world he threw them to the side. He smacked his foot against the boy's body forcing him to straighten out before he slammed the foot straight onto his crotch. Most of his heel easily covered the area while the top of his foot ran up to cover his gut. He continuous brought his foot back only to slam them deep into the boy's nuts and cock. All while in a quiet tone declaring his intention, "Let me know when you are ready to continue sniffing my feet. I'll stop then. And not a moment sooner."

Just as he was starting to catch his breath, the boy felt his clothing get yanked off. He looked up and trembled as his father towered over him. Colder than ever, yet still, somehow fuming. He raised his arms in submission but it did him no good as he felt the foot fly into his exposed crotch.

If he’d had any wind to scream, he would have. Instead he curled into himself and gasped. His dad had never hit him that hard. The second strike helped him to find his voice. He screamed like a bitch. The third...fourth...fifth...each helped him go up an octave. Maybe Jesse was training a singer. Finally he couldn’t take it anymore. His stomach lurched and his balls were purple. In a quiet, gasping voice he said “O-okay...okay...I’ll do as you say Daddy...just please...stop...” he gasped, desperately trying to take the pain and failing. He writhed around on the floor under Jesses foot.

Jesse's hammering heel did most of the work. He didn't enjoy the fact it took so many hits for his boy to comply with his orders. Was he testing him and his endurance? He could go on all night if he felt the need to. His foot remained grounded on the boy's crotch as he took a heavy step inward. Using the flattened cock against the boy's sunken abdomen as a walking plank. His other foot came to slap down onto the boy's face.

Completely disappeared from view minus the producing ears. "After each sniff, I expect you to mark the area with a kiss, followed by an apology and then finally a lick. Each time. In that order. No diversions."

“NNNNGGGHHHH” the boy gritted his teeth in pain as his dick was flattened under his fathers terrifying feet. He was almost distracted from this pain as the other foot lowered ominously onto his face. He saw bits of the insole of the shoes between the wrinkles of his daddies foot. Before it rested on his face with a resounding slap.

He listened to his fathers orders. And, too scared to continue to disobey. Sniffed the creamy white arch, which despite its appearance, smelled foul. He then kissed this expanse of sweaty foot. Gave a muffled apology and...to his horror. Licked a small stripe up the foot. Tasting all manner of dirt, sweat and funk as he did so. Another bout of retching threatened to overtake him. But he swallowed it down as he moved to the heel. Tears streaming down his face. 

Jesse had to strain his ears in effort to pick up the muffled noises from beneath him. He went as far to cup his hand behind his ear to try to hone in on the sounds. "What was that? You had so much sound earlier, maybe I need to press the up volume." As he rose the crotch planted foot into the air, his face planted foot compressed harder into the boy's face. The once prominently pointed nose started to crumple under the weight.

With a tilted balance almost resembling a seesaw he brought his foot down onto the balls once more. While lifting enough space up and off the boy's face. Whatever words or actions he managed to spew out in that time were soon muffled by the smashing of the foot back down. Jesse kept the alternating flow and for a brief flash in time a smile curled on his face. Unseen by his son, but the memory of playing had drifted into his mind's eye.

He found his balance too hard to keep and slapped his foot back onto the solid part of the boys torso. That being both feet settled onto his son's chest. Long toes far extended over the clavicle.

He couldn’t believe it. His dad was mocking him. Was he...enjoying this? Torturing his son? These questions were quickly answered as his crotch was pedalled under the massive dark foot. Whatever noises of apology he made were quickly quashed as the other foot slammed back into his face. Toes gouging into his eyes. The alternative stomps soon saw his healthy body transformed into a bruised, bloody, mismatched mess in his fathers image. He whimpered and spluttered and cried but his father simply enjoyed himself with his son under his feet. He felt his nose break. His balls shrivel until finally. Jesse stopped on his chest. All the weight focused on one place made his rib cage creak dangerously. And once more, nearly cut off his oxygen. The Son looked from Jesse to his thick toes in pure terror and back again. Unable to even beg. 

Pathetic. Can't even withstand a simple punishment. But hopefully that would mean he won't have to repeat such a harsh treatment ever again. He looked down at the weeping whelp only to find whatever sympathy for his son snuffed out and replaced with anger. Time out of his day to do such things, not to mention the subtle yet familiar features of his own face transplanted onto such a weak creature.

Jesse stepped forward, letting his foot hover above his son's face before his toes lashed out. Nose clenched between the slender yet strong toes before a swift shift snapped the nose back in place. Jesse gently tugged and rested the boy's head to the side. Giving him a better platform to rest the majority of his broad foot upon. He at last stepped off and returned to the couch.

"Come. Return to the position."

As Jesse shifted again, the son averted his gaze. Not wanting to do anything to anger his daddy further. But as the foot hovered ominously above him. He couldn’t help but sneak a peak. Jesse’s soles had gotten a little dirty stepping around on the hardwood floors of the house. There were spots of blood, little flecks of toe gunk and a general sheen of sweat. The Son observed all of this in the two seconds before the flexible toes came down and grabbed his nose in an iron grip. He yelled as it was snapped painfully into place. His dad simply held his foot on the side of his head until he stopped. This was it. Utter subservience. To his own daddy. His cheeks flushed with shame and his heart beat quickly with fear. 

As Jesse walked away. He stayed there. In pain and waiting for it to be over. He heard his fathers command and hastened to obey. At this point, he was too weak to resist anything. He found his place again. Between the deadly legs and feet 

"My feet were cold, son. All day. Shivering without the protection of my socks. Then they were beating my insoles far rougher than usual. My shoes have probably degraded further after today. I never want my toes to be as cold as they were today. Put my toes into your mouth and suck on them until they are warmed again."

Resistance? He had none left. One of his eyes was swelling shut and his breaths came out in wheezes. Just do as daddy says. That’s all he really could do now. He picked up one dirty, sweaty foot. Looked his daddy in the eye. And then started to suck his first two toes. He tasted sweat and toe jam in masses. He was starting to believe that his Daddies feet never stopped sweating. Like miniature waterfalls. It was the only way to explain it in this cold. He managed to fit three toes on his right foot into his mouth. A single tear dripped onto the tops of Jesse’s feet as the son started to lose his humanity. 

Jesse noticed the lack of full heat wrapping over all his toes. His other foot came to hook his big toe into the boy's mouth. Stretching as wide as he could get it in order to fill the rest of his toes into the boy's mouth. The problem was two fold. The boy's skull hadn't finished developing to fit the full length of his toes let alone his entire foot. And the wideness of his foot wasn't able to properly stuff inside. This didn't dissuade Jesse or he didn't appear outwardly affected by the issue. He only continued to push deeper and deeper.

His toenails smacking into the uvula while scratching the opening to his son's esophagus almost severing the tonsils in the process. A focused face soon caught attention to the tear dripping along his foot. He pulled out and leaned forward, "Why are you crying? Is something upsetting you?"

The son barely reacted as he was manhandled by the sweaty toes. At this point. His daddy’s feet controlling his face felt normal. Though no less horrific. He couldn’t control gagging of course. Jesse didn’t seem to care as his sharp toe nails cut the roof of his mouth. 

His eyes had just begun to flutter when Jesse pulled them out, covered in drool and loose toe gunk. 

At his fathers question he simply answered, monotone; “Because it hurts daddy.”

"Maybe you should've thought about that before you didn't do as you were told. Actions have consequences. You should know this. He bent over to pull his shoes closer into range. Shuffling back into the couch he curled one leg up to get comfortable while the other dipped down and behind the boy's head. "I'm only showing you what your actions resulted in." Slowly the head was guided to the vast opening of the man's large shoe.

For as long as it was left to vent, it still had a heavy stench fuming out. Enough to melt paint and for the son, to cause sweat to boil along his face.

Though he no longer gagged at the stink. It still caused the boy huge displeasure. He felt light headed and sick. His eyes fluttered and he groaned softly at the opening of the large, worn shoe. 

His daddy’s sweaty foot on his head prevented him from moving. Not that he’d have the strength to. All he could do was smell and wait. More tears streamed down his face. This time from the reaction of the mustard gas like feet. His nose burned. Not in a minor way either. Jesse’s footstink was beginning to physically hurt him. He scrunched yo his face and moaned his displeasure into the sweaty insole of the shoe. “Daddy...stop...”

Jesse's toes clenched the few pieces of hairs that he could in order to lift the boy up. This reprieve was only for a few seconds and so he could fill the shoe up with more sweat from the other. The combined liquid pooled to a few inches in height. Without socks to act as a sponge it sloshed around to a major degree. This was the height of his son's failure in his eyes. He heard the weak plea and as normal gave the same excuse, "This is for your own good."

And once more the head was plunged into darkness. This time the shoe sank under the combined weight of the boy's face and Jesse's foot. Only to be further compounded when he crossed his other foot at the at the ankle. He purposefully pushed down but unknowingly submerged his boy's lips and nose into the lake of sweat built inside the shoe.

As Jesse pushed his head down, the boys eyes went wide. His shock wearing off as he realised what was about to happen. “Daddy no-“ was all he could manage before he was submerged, face first, in a river of foot sweat. He immediately began to struggle for air, causing the pool to bubble. Unknown to Jesse. He struggled as much as a broken body under mighty feet could. But it did him no good. He gasped and snorted up several drops of footsweat. Which only quickened the process of him loosing conciousness under the sweaty soles. Within five minutes. Jesse had successfully drowned his own son in his foot sweat 

Jesse was under the notion that the violent convulsions of his son's body had been from the utter stench. "That's it. Suck it up. Next time you'll know what to do right and what is wrong." When his body stopped flailing he simply thought it was a form of acceptance of his place and to spend the rest of his punishment quiet. That quietness helped ease Jesse into a slumber. Arms folded across his chest while head dipped over to the side. Light snores produced while his son laid dead at his feet. A snapshot view of his parenting style, sink or swim.

By time Jesse awoke again, more punishments surfaced to his mind. By his toes he like a crane machine, lifted the boy's head out from his shoe. A waggle of his foot and the body danced lifeless about. Not even the few smacks were able to bring the boy back to consciousness. Worry never worked its way onto Jesse's face. Like trash he flung the boy's body out with an extending kick of his foot.

His boy thought playing dead would save him. He stomped over to the body and lifted his foot high into the air. A full drop onto the abdomen. More and more he stamped down even working his way up the chest. Sweat pumping from the boy's lips as he turns into a ornate sweat geyser. Jesse wondered if his trampling counted as CPR.


End file.
